Oleander
by xi.writes
Summary: Or, how Hermione Granger, intrepid daughter of a county doctor, finds herself apprenticed (read: sold into slavery) to the Regent's own Potionsmaster, the singularly most intimidating man she has ever had the misfortune to meet. / An unconventional take on SSHG, served with a sprinkling of Victorian steampunk and a dash of fantasy à la Tamora Pierce. Slowburn AU, short chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 **o.o0o.o**

 _1 September 1837 H.E.  
_ _Royal Castle, Hogwarts_

 _._

 _Dearest Ginny,_

 _No, your eyes are not deceiving you, and I, as you know, do not lie (...except, of course, under extenuating and thus entirely justifiable circumstances). I am indeed at Hogwarts Castle, and have, in the course of forty-eight hours, come a hair's width from being attacked, single-handedly set fire to a deserving lout, and apprenticed (read: sold into slavery) to Archmage Snape, the Regent's own Potionsmaster, and the singularly most intimidating man I have ever had the misfortune to meet._

 _But perhaps I should start at the beginning..._

 _._

 **o.o0o.o**

The rusty bell over the door at _Flourish and Blotts_ tinkled merrily as the slender figure of a young woman of about three-and-twenty stumbled out. With a brown-paper package tucked under one arm, and her nose buried in a newly acquired tome, the girl stepped back into the smoggy streets of Diagon Alley, weaving past the late afternoon crowds and clanking trams with a distracted eye.

Two lefts. Right, and then another left.

Sensible brown leather boots clattered over the worn cobblestones as she hurried back to the apothecary's shop where her father was waiting - and, given the lateness of the hour, no doubt tapping his foot impatiently at her tardiness. Jonathan Granger, a respectable county doctor with a particular interest in operations of the tooth, rarely ventured far from his home and patients in Devonshire, There were times, however, where business inevitably called him to London - an event that his bookish daughter, Hermione, looked forward with great anticipation, if only to peruse the latest scholarly publications the city had to offer. This year was no different. In her enthusiasm, however, it appeared that time had, once again, run away from her.

At the next intersection, Hermione skittered to a stop, confusion marring her brow. She could have sworn that the apothecary was down this lane, but other than the ubiquitous presence of the creeping vines that crawled up the crumbling plaster and old brick walls, the labyrinthine narrow passages were distressingly unfamiliar.

A sudden gust of wind whistled through the alley, stirring the litter and dead leaves in a lazy whirlwind. Hermione shivered, slamming her bonnet more firmly over riotous chestnut curls, ready to retrace her steps.

To her utmost dismay, heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Two men turned the corner, stopping abruptly when they spied Hermione. At the sight of the slight, primly dressed brunette, a lopsided leer spread over across the doughy, mustached face of the shorter man.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he wheezed, eyeing her up and down in a way that made the hair at the back of her neck prickle in alarm.

His dark-haired companion leaned against the wall. "Looks like a little mouse has lost its way."

"Pardon me, sirs," Hermione stammered, heartbeat racing. "I must have taken a wrong turn. I shall- I shall take my leave now."

The mustached man simply smiled wider as he stepped closer to her, effectively blocking her way. "Going so soon without sampling the delights of Knockturn? My dear, that would be practically… _criminal_."

Hermione's white-knuckled grip tightened on her parcels as she flinched away from the man. The odd, prickling heat that had been afflicting her hands the past few months suddenly returned in full force. Her palms itched, throbbing in time with her thundering pulse. "My father is expecting me."

The other man straightened up from his position against the wall, moving to stand closer to his friend. "Your mustache always scares the ladies, Carrow," he remarked with a smirk. There was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes.

"So? I think fear is rather becoming on her." A hand shot forward, yanking Hermione towards him by the arm. "Wouldn't you agree, little mouse?"

Hermione shrieked in alarm, her books falling to the ground with a thud.

"Unhand me!" she cried. Her own voice sounded strangely distant, muffled by the blood pounding in her ears. The peculiar burning in her hands swelled like a tidal wave, until Hermione felt as though she had both arms plunged into a raging furnace. Lightheaded with panic and pain, she squeezed her eyes tightly, thrusting her palms forward and shoving with all the strength she could muster. When her hands made contact with her assailant, something in her snapped, like a bottle of expensive champagne that had been shaken so vigorously the cork could no longer hold the bottle's contents back.

The iron grip on her arm instantly slackened, giving way to shocked, angry roars. Hermione staggered backwards, almost tripping over her feet before her shoulder rammed into rough, unyielding brick.

Wide brown eyes flew open, and then widened even further.

Inexplicably, the man was on fire.

 **o.o0o.o**

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _The plot for this story is based loosely on a letter-writing game with a friend, written many moons ago. Events of the first chapter are inspired heavily by a scene in Hiyao Miyazaki's gorgeous animated film, 'Howl's Moving Castle'._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 **o.o0o.o**

A hooded figure prowled through the Lower City, his dark clothing blending perfectly with shadows of the alleyways that were growing longer in the gathering dusk. He was in a fouler mood than usual tonight, due in no small part to the latest assassination attempt on the Crown Prince. Despite having risen as a global hegemonic power in the _Pax Britannica_ , the economic turmoil caused by the series of long wars fought against neighbouring France had left much of Britain reeling. Though the militia might have suppressed the recent riots in Yorkshire and Lancashire, even a fool could see that civil unrest was growing amongst the impoverished, embittered working class - and civil unrest always meant more reconnaissance work. His jaw tightened even further. _'With the immense gaps in our information, Mundungus still had to be fool enough to-'_

The scowling Potionsmaster froze in mid-step as a sharp jolt ran through his body. An enormous surge of elemental magic had been unleashed from an unfamiliar source, a mere two lanes down from where he stood.

Eyes narrowing, he spun on his heel to investigate its source.

 **o.o0o.o**

In Hermione's shock-induced state, it took a several long moments to process the almost comically absurd scene that was playing out in front of her incredulous eyes. The squat, lumpy man was rolling on the ground, screaming in pain as flames the colour of bluebells licked his body. Meanwhile, the other man had divested himself of his coat, and was smacking it against his companion's writhing figure in an effort to smother the flames. His attention, however, was fixed on Hermione.

"Witch!" he breathed, staring at her hands with an expression bordering on terror.

Hermione glanced down, following his gaze. The burning, itchy sensation in her palms had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as it had come, leaving nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. _'Was that- was that my doing?'_ she thought, hardly daring to believe, before the last of her strength drained from her, and she slid down the wall in a boneless heap, heedless of the havoc that continued around her.

...until a split second later, when the two men were doused with a deluge of water that seemed to materialise from thin air.

The yelling abruptly stopped.

Hermione sat bolt upright, her head whipping around in an attempt to locate the origins of water. Her confused eyes were almost instantly arrested by a tall, hooded presence at the narrow mouth of the alley, who had the pale, spidery fingers of one hand outstretched from the voluminous folds of a black cloak. Taking a step towards the two men, the stranger spoke in a deep, sonorous voice that commanded obedience.

" _Leave_."

Thoroughly shaken by the evening's events, the unpleasant pair needed no further prompting, and beat a sodden, hasty retreat.

The man returned his attention to Hermione. She gulped but did not break her gaze. In the grey twilight, with the hood throwing his face mostly in shadow, all she could make out was the sharp silhouette of a hooked, hawk-like nose.

The stranger was the first to look away, beckoning imperiously as he half-turned to leave. "Come with me."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "With you? A veritable stranger?!"

He stiffened and turned back around, his voice silky soft and deadly. "You will do as I say."

Hermione trembled, her instincts screaming 'danger', but she forced herself to put on a brave front. "I should think not!" she replied, tossing her head in defiance. With a dubious glance at her hands again, she bravely blustered ahead. "I... I have powers that aren't to be reckoned with!"

In one swift movement, the stranger pulled his hood back from his head. Hermione gasped as the man's glowering face, framed by a lank curtain of sable-black hair, was finally revealed. The gaunt, distinctive features that she'd only ever glimpsed in portraits was even more severe in the dim light. "Would you like to pit those _powers_ of yours against those of the highest mage in the kingdom?" he sneered, derision twisting his lips. Glittering black eyes hardened in anger when she still hadn't moved from her spot on the ground. "Now I will say this one more time, _come with me_ , or I will not hesitate to transport you by force – and you have my word, it will not be pleasant."

With a growing hopelessness, Hermione hastily struggled to her feet. Her knees had other ideas, however, and immediately buckled beneath her. When she realised that the Archmage wasn't about to help her at all, Hermione flashed him a saccharine smile through gritted teeth. "I would be most grateful for your assistance, _kind sir_."

Curling his lip in disgust, the Archmage strode over and grasped her forearm with icy fingers. After pulling her forcefully to her feet, he immediately began to yank her down the alley.

Hissing in pain and annoyance, she stumbled and half-tripped, barely able to keep up with his long strides. Coldly, he ignored her distress, and did not slow his punishing pace.

After they had made several dizzying twists and turns, Hermione could hold back her indefatigable curiosity no longer - even in the presence of a man as menacing as Severus Snape.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"Be silent, girl," he answered frostily, as he unceremoniously shoved her into an empty Gurney steamer. The bored-looking cabbie lounging by the side of his vehicle immediately leapt to attention, doffing his hat at the pair before springing into the front of the carriage. "We are heading to the Castle."

"But my father-"

"-will be notified."

The door slammed shut. With several sputtering coughs and shudders, the steam engine came to life, and then they were off.

 **o.o0o.o**

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ **_Pax Britannica and references to_ _rioting and civil unrest in Britain are based on real historical events, post-Napoleonic war._


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 **o.o0o.o**

The mismatched pair spent the the entire journey to the castle in a tense, uneasy silence. Hermione's eyes were fixed resolutely at the scenery outside her window, reluctant to meet the gaze of the man seated across from her, who was scrutinising her as though she was a new and particularly unpleasant laboratory specimen.

Oblivious to the tension in the passenger carriage, the cabbie maneuvered the steamer through the narrow streets at a breakneck, bouncing pace, until the mercantile districts gave way to the grand houses of the nobility and landed elite. As she caught sight of the castle across the swirling midnight waters of the Serpentine, Hermione gasped. Even in the darkness, Hogwarts was lit up in mage-light, its twisting spires disappearing into the perennial yellow London fog.

At last, they reached a great gate with sentries standing watch in orderly formations. When they caught sight of Snape, the guards immediately snapped to attention and rushed to open the gates. If they wondered about the presence of his young, frazzled-looking female companion, they chose not to ask, instead shooting speculative glances at each other after the steamer had trundled past.

To Hermione's surprise, rather than pulling up in front of the grand entrance at the front of the expansive castle courtyard, Snape directed the cabbie to veer left around the side of the castle, where the faint outline of a much more nondescript door could be seen against the stone masonry. After paying the man for his services, Snape swept towards it with what Hermione was fast coming to identify as characteristic purpose. Her musings as to why no sentry was posted here were soon answered when the Archmage placed a glowing hand to the brass handle. Like loyal hounds sensing the arrival of their master, the gears and pulleys welded onto the iron entrance sprung to life, unbolting a complex system of master locks. With a creak, the door swung open, welcoming them into Castle Hogwarts.

 **o.o0o.o**

The interior of the castle was even more magnificent than its facade, Hermione saw, as she was led through the twisting, winding corridors at an expeditious clip. With unabashed awe, she soaked up every glimpse of the meticulously crafted tapestries, ornate silver armour, and exquisite paintings in gilded frames that glimmered in the flickering torchlight. She could not take in much more before she was all but thrown into a small sitting room, as the door was ominously slammed shut. A maid, whose dusting had been rudely interrupted, gave a squeak of surprise before hastily stationing herself in the corner, almost fading into the furniture in a way that spoke of long years dancing attendance on highborn folk.

Snape paid her no heed.

"Sit," he said, his contemptuous tone directed at Hermione, giving the girl no choice in the matter.

After a slight beat of hesitation, Hermione perched herself on the edge of a settee.

"Irresponsible or reckless use of dangerous magics is a criminal offence under Crown law," he sneered. "Give me one good reason, girl, why I should not hand you immediately over to my Lord Provost."

By this point, Hermione was beyond upset – she was verging hysterical. "One good reason, sir?" she cried, quivering in her seat with a mixture of nerves and righteous indignation. "I have a list! Firstly, I haven't the faintest clue of what exactly occurred – I am altogether innocent in the matter. Secondly, even if I really am guilty of the crimes you have leveled at me, it was an act of self-defense – and perhaps you should be interrogating my assailants instead! Thirdly, my parents had me Tested when I was little and not a single child in the whole county had a drop of Power, so it would be altogether impossible for me to magically light a candle, let alone set a man on fire! And fourthly… fourthly, well, you simply cannot send me to the Provost. My mother would have my head."

Despite Hermione's impassioned outburst, the Potionsmaster did not speak for a very long time. She waited, impatient, heart in her throat. What was to be done to her?

Abruptly, he turned, and in the same tense and dangerously graceful movements, paced to the window, his back towards the trembling brunette. "A Seer discovered no traces of the Power?"

"No."

His scoff was tinged with irony. "Girl, I wager most mages across Britain and the Continent would sell their souls for the amount of dormant Power in you."

Hermione gaped at him. "I _beg_ your pardon?!"

Snape continued as if she hadn't spoken, growing more sour with every word. "No doubt the unpleasant task of tutoring will be foisted onto me if the Regent has anything to say about the matter," he muttered darkly. With an irritable twitch of his cloak, he spun around, striding back towards the door. "It cannot be helped, then. You will remain in residence at Hogwarts until your training has ended, awaken when the dawn bell tolls, and come to my workroom after breakfast. The time I tutor you will vary depending on the amount of time I have to spare but you are expected to finish your assigned tasks before the next day. I bear no responsibility for your actions, and your well-being is not of my concern. We begin tomorrow."

There was a brief pause at the doorway. Dark, penetrating eyes flicked over to the maid standing unobtrusively in the corner, almost as an afterthought. "Find this girl a room in the academic wing."

And just like that, with no time for Hermione to ask questions or to protest this new state of affairs, he was gone.

 **o.o0o.o**

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I've cheekily exercised a bit of artistic license and shifted Hogwarts to roughly where Buckingham Palace is currently situated._


End file.
